The Village Of Caburn
by Kalyn Adams
Summary: Thorin could bear it no more; pulling Geth forward, he pressed his mouth to hers', burying his free hand into her black curls. "Lay with me tonight" he breathed, tugging at her lip until it escaped his teeth. "Please" Thorin said softly, pulling back with a wild and almost desperate look in his eye.


Dusk was falling in the human settlement far, far away from the fallen kingdom of Erebor. The usual dull and gloomy atmosphere of the village was replaced with a sight long lost to its memory – a glossy red had escaped the sun and tumbled onto the sky, painting a dull and fading red glow on the stained and rickety old houses of the settlement. The small village was very crowded and quite suffocative. Tiny roofs of thick cloth were put up wherever space could be spared, with narrow lanes grudgingly left alone for streets.

The seemingly aged sun burned low in the sky, with not a cloud in sight to interrupt his weak rays of light. It was one of the most beautiful sunsets the villagers ever witnessed.

Few men were walking back from the forge to their homes, taking a moment or two to look at the eerie beauty of the sunset.

The master of the village had not set up his people at the miserable, soot-stricken place for no reason, no; he knew he was sitting on the edge of a huge metal deposit of iron, _pure iron_. He knew, after he had mined all the metal, he would be a very rich man. How he had knowledge of the deposit, no one knew. His miners had already begun their work; a hole that was enough to fit two fully grown men along the diameter had already been dug.

Almost all the men in the settlement had to slave away in the mine or the forge to gain some meagre coin, which was usually used up by the next morning they received it; given to the Man with the Horse, who would drive far away early in the morning and return with food in the evening. The bread he bought back was always stale, dry and tough to chew - for the money he was given was so less that it could only buy the leftovers for the villagers.

The men were weary, tired and filthy; without a hint of cheer on their faces, and were equally unpleasant if they smiled or laughed – the hollowness of the face, the crooked, yellowing teeth stained by consuming ale and chewing betel leaves always looked alarming. The women, as opposed to dwarf females, were skinny - bones stuck out from every contour of visible skin. The situation of the children, however, was most upsetting. They were stick-thin and their large, miserable eyes stared desolately at a distance, trying to remember the taste of their previous meal. Their hair was matted with dust, nails caked with soot and knuckles split or bruised from fights.

It was in this dismal village that Thorin Oakensheild lived, with his wed and nephew toddlers. Why was he, of all the races in middle earth, living there?

He was no longer the King under the Mountain, for his kingdom had been usurped by the fire drake from the north, Smaug the Terrible. Thorin was stripped of his divine right to rule, his most loyal followers and close friends had been victims of the blazing fire and starvation, and his father went missing after succumbing to madness...

Without a leader or a king, the surviving dwarves (and a handful of men from Dale) were hopeless – they had neither food nor coin at ready – everything had been beneath the plundering beast that prowled the halls of their home; whose roars of delight still rang in Thorin's ears.

He had the responsibility to look after his people, as their rightful king, but after a few years of staying together as family, the dwarves of Durin decided to separate their paths, for works to such a huge amount of dwarves were seldom available.

Thorin and Geth had travelled days and nights with their restless nephews, and had stumbled upon the poor dwelling of Caburn one sleep deprived night. Kili was snoring away on his aunt's shoulder, while Fili had been draped over his uncle's back. The master's look of disdain morphed into delight upon looking at Thorin's craftsmanship – no doubt had he imagining the gold that was sure to come in the future. Geth was employed as a maid in the master's house, much to Thorin's ire. She had somehow convinced her husband that extra coin was needed, as they had not one but two growing dwarves with them. So she was reluctantly allowed to work for the master and his mistress, Thorin still being touchy about the matter. How could the love of his life, the Queen of Erebor, Daughter of Galdrog, put her honour at stake and work as a maid to some lowly human?

Since Fili and Kili were still toddlers and required much attention, Geth took them along everyday with her, keeping them far away from the master's children (who were slow and fat and stupid, and were very mean for six year olds).

Now, if one squinted in the fading light, he could see the stocky built, dark and long haired former king walking back to his home, not stopping even when a few mongrels growled at him. Thorin was hungry, and as he turned around a narrow corner, he spotted Geth – looking out anxiously as she stood a few feet away from their shelter, waiting for his return, no doubt worried that he was late – even from a long distance.

He was, in fact, very late; he usually retired before the men (an action that always met grumbles) but the burning sun brought back memories of his lost kingdom, and Thorin leaned heavily on the anvil, suddenly feeling very lonely and helpless. He waited until all the human folk left before mourning his loss silently.

He was jerked back to reality when the forge was being closed and slipped out with a nod to the man locking up, half listening to the clangs of the shutter as he hurried home.

Geth's worried face smoothened as soon as she saw Thorin marching towards her.

"Thorin" she said playfully. "I was beginning to think that I had to come and fetch you."

She smiled and reached for his hammer.

"I am not a dwarfling, nor would I get lost in this forsaken place" he snapped, pushing past her and entering inside.

Their shelter was very small, smaller than his bedroom in Erebor, which was twice as large as this one. Few candles were burning and the small cot he usually slept on was now occupied by his nephews, sleeping soundly with the coarse layers of blankets bundled around them. The low light offered by the candles illuminated his dinner, placed on the small table he used for dining, still steaming.

He heard Geth entering behind him silently, depositing the hammer back to its place. He walked to the cot and sat down carefully, trying to not wake Kili or Fili and bent down to remove his heavy boots. He avoided Geth's gaze, though he could see her skirts out of the corner of his eyes. As he was not entirely focusing on removing his burdening shoes, he fumbled with the laces. He cursed himself for his distraction when she moved closer and lowered herself before him, unlacing his boots one by one. She rose to her knees after stowing them neatly under the bed, and began unbuttoning his over shirt, eyes trained on the buttons.

Thorin looked into Geth's eyes, which were lowered and focused on his shirt. Suddenly, he felt ashamed of his outburst, and strangely felt that he had to apologize to her. She pushed the heavy shirt off his shoulders and left the thin cotton under shirt on. It had once been white, but now looked a shade of brown, stained with sweat and soot.

Geth made to rise, to collect his clothing, but Thorin closed a calloused hand around her forearm, stopping her movements.

She looked at him, brow furrowed. "Thorin…?"

"The dying sun this evening – its fiery glow…I saw Erebor up in flames once more, Geth; all my people screaming for help, our home, _our home_ – I let it slip from my very own hands. I allowed my people to suffer, their deaths are upon me-"

"Thorin" Geth interrupted gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Thorin, none fought a dragon and lived to tell the tale. That beast that settled on our gold breathed fire and wrecked havoc upon us. What has happened has not gone past His eye; death will be upon that accursed beast. The mountain is a vast place; you could not have held it against a fully grown beast – it was not your fault that Erebor fell. I refuse to sit idle and let the thoughts plaguing my King render him mad. What had happened has happened, and it would do us no good to dwell into the past and forget to live."

After a few quiet moments;

"What have I done to deserve you?"

"Lots"

Thorin could bear it no more; pulling Geth forward, he pressed his mouth to hers', burying his free hand into her black curls.

"Lay with me tonight" he breathed, tugging at her lip until it escaped his teeth.

She shot a tentative glance at the tots.

"Please" Thorin said softly, pulling back with a wild and almost desperate look in his eye.

Although Geth had heard Thorin plead with her a few times, the frantic tone in his voice made her heart skip a beat and she nodded her willingness shyly.

Thorin lips curved into a genuine smile and he looked at her fondly for a few moments, a new light shining in his eyes, before pulling her forward and standing up. He closed the distance between them, not wanting to waste a moment and walked back, mindful not to trip or lose balance with Geth in his arms.

Geth, although smiling into Thorin's mouth, was thankful he was holding her upright; her knees were quite sore from the kneeling.

They quickly chose a spot hidden from the tots' view, (though they were asleep), and Thorin lifted Geth onto the table, pushing up her skirts, ignoring her scandalised expression.

"Forgive me, my love" Thorin panted, his head on Geth's shoulder, trying to regain composure. He had been rough, more than usual, and had clamped down a hand over her mouth when she was about to cry out loudly.

Geth pressed her lips to Thorin's cheek tenderly, and pushed at him gently, her hands still on his broad chest.

"Eat" she said softly. "You must be hungry"

As Thorin collapsed into the chair in front of the table, Geth cleansed herself from the water stored in the large urn in corner of their shelter.

He watched her actions affectionately, wolfing down his food in minutes. He knew somehow that Geth hadn't eaten, but he couldn't bring himself to actually ask her – he knew why: the appetite of his nephews was somehow larger than both him and her combined, and Thorin knew Geth would sacrifice her own share to keep their hungry mouths fed.

After she dried her hands on her skirts, which were smudged by soot and dirt (reminding Thorin of the days she wore fine, breathtaking silk gowns and he suddenly yearned to see her again in such royal robes and stones adorning her throat) she went to wake the boys, but Thorin stopped her with a grunt.

"Leave them be" he said, raising and walking over to the urn to splash some water across his face and hands. He made his way over to her when he was finished.

"You cannot sleep on the ground; it is not fit for a King to–"

"But I am no longer king, am I?" he said with a smile, placing a finger on her lips.

She batted his hand away with a flick on irritation.

"Kingship will never stray from you. As your honour, loyalty and bravery" she said crossly, with quite a set of her mouth.

Thorin chuckled at that, drawing her closer to him, ignoring her half-hearted attempts to free herself. "Remind me never to put my sense of humour to use around you, my love" he said, placing a lingering kiss on her brow. "Come, let us call it a day"

He glanced at his little nephews. "Let them enjoy the comforts of bedding, even if only for a night"

"And what about you?" Geth asked cheekily. "What would you enjoy?"

Thorin smirked at her words.

"My wife, obviously"


End file.
